


A Little Conversation

by TypingBosmer



Series: You and Your Magister [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romantic Fluff, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29434224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypingBosmer/pseuds/TypingBosmer
Summary: This is not your first time paying a visit to the Inquisition's Tevinter researcher. But tonight, your conversation takes a different turn.A short romance ficlet about a sad, disraced Tevinter magister and the Inquisitor that has been encouraging him to redeem himself. Written in second person to keep the Inquisitor unspecified.
Relationships: Gereon Alexius/Inquisitor, Gereon Alexius/Original Character(s), Gereon Alexius/Reader
Series: You and Your Magister [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205198
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	A Little Conversation

This is not your first time paying a visit to the Inquisition's Tevinter researcher.

To check how he is adjusting to the role you sentenced him to. To make certain that he is not having any inclinations to bolt free and rejoin the Venatori. And... And just to talk.

About whatever he is working on. And lately, after cracks started appearing in the armour of hardened, dark ice that he is always wearing - about himself. About Tevinter, and how he could have changed it if he had not given up. About being kind to Dorian.

Over these long weeks, you have seen him in so many utterly different surroundings.

In a crammed, damp little corner behind a row of dungeon bars. And in another crammed little corner, albeit dry and with a wooden door, under the roof of Skyhold's mage tower. And finally, in here, in a more spacious, firelit room, with its very own writing desk and bookcase, which he was allowed to have as a reward for his study findings (whether or not the mighty Inquisitor's personal favour played a part in this, shall stay between you and your advisors).

There is a guard at the door still - but otherwise, it is almost homely.

You have seen him greet you with utterly different expressions too.

A snarl of tethered hatred. A despondent stare, all interest in the world around him wiped blank. A tiny, uncertain, yet unmistakable inkling of a smile.

Tonight, however, he seems both agitated and sheepish. His brow is creased, but not in the same way as when he glared at you, his enemy, his target to be eliminated, from the throne he took from Arl Teagan. Nor in same the way as when he winced in pain, sorting for the tangled knot of his feelings about his lost family, his apprentice, and his homeland.

His eyes seem huge and black in the poor flickering light, and you note the flakes of silver that glint around his pupils. They seem oddly bright, like scattered star dust. Well, mages' eyes are known to assume all manner of fantastical colours, aren't they?

Having been allowed the luxury of two chairs in his room, he motions you to sit in one of them, while perching on the other, which stands facing his desk. He then takes to rummaging through some papers, his profile a velvety black shadow, traced in fiery gold around the edges.

Idly taking in the soft curve of his nose, the stark outline of his cheekbone and jaw, you nearly fall off your seat when he speaks.

'I know I asked you to come here to discuss an important discovery, Inquisitor'.

He clears his throat and continues, in a rather apologetic tone.

'But in truth, you might assume that I am deceiving you. Again. This discovery of mine has nothing to do with a magical breakthrough, or with the Inquisition's cause. It is important to me, personally. But since you are my... my friend, I wanted to share it with you as well'.

There is something about he says this word - 'friend'.

A certain break in his voice, a certain stumbling hoarseness, as though he were unused to the sheer idea of having friends again. It cannot but echo within you, and an unconscious jolt in the pit of your stomach.

Before you can make proper sense of it, however, he gets up and hands you a small, messily torn off scrap of paper that he has fished from the depths of his desk. After you take it from him, he remains hovering by your side, interlacing his fingers in restless anticipation.

It is always... curious to see his hands out of the unwieldy, long-clawed Venatori gauntlets. Or out of the protective gloves that he sometimes wears while conducting magical experiments. Or, for that matter, out of the frizzy, fraying mittens that he wears outdoors, grumbling about the southern cold under his breath.

His fingers are stained with alchemical reagents. Callused where the quill must rest against them... Warm, when they briefly brush over yours.

The jagged little slip that he has given you is crisscrossed by jumping, squarish scribbles - in a child's hand.

**MiSTer ALeKSeeUS, THanK YOo fOr YOu aЯE MADGiK LEsSoИs.MY DrEAms aЯE nOt SCarEy No MOЯе. YOoo AЯе noT SCArey TOOO!**

[Mister Alexius, thank you for your magic lessons. My dreams are not scary no more. You are not scary too!]

'One of the children that I have been helping teach sneaked this into my copy of the textbook when I turned away. Quite a feat of stealth'.

He seeks to meet your gaze, while his eyebrows arch a little and the corners of his lips travel upward, in a slow, hesitant pull. There is that smile again.

Somehow, it always makes him look younger, lighting up his worn features, and adding more starry glow to his eyes. Once hardened by desperation and near madness, his gaze is now soft, and wistful... And deep in a way you never noticed before.

'It is, perhaps, a foolish thing to take pride in,' he adds, casting his gaze down.

'But I have little else... And if it were not for you, I would have had even less. You...'

Once more, the smile returns, and lingers, as his eyes dart up to look back at you.

'You have been more merciful to me than I deserve, and I think some of this mercy is beginning to rub off'.

On an impulse, you get up, standing beside him, and gently extend the hand with the child's letter and press it over his heart.

The gesture startles him - perhaps just as much as it startles you - and while he stands frozen, you lean in closer, and find his bare fingers, bringing his hand to rest over yours... And kiss him.

He spends the next moment or two in the same thunderstruck, petrified state, letting you catch at his lips. It is only when your tongue slips deeper that he reciprocates, melting into your embrace, his whole being a sigh of relief personified. With one hand still holding on to yours, he moves the other along your back, and you sense flashes of his old desperation in the greedy, clawing grasps of his fingers at the folds of your clothing.

'In... Inquisitor...' he chokes when he tears away, dazed, with his eyes half-lidded and brimming over with more starlight than ever before.

In a breathless whisper, you tell him your name, and he mouths back his own.

Gereon.

Ge. Re. On.

Three syllables' worth of air before another dive into a kiss.

This is not your first time paying a visit to the Inquisition's Tevinter researcher, and far from the last.

There is a guard at the door still, but whether or not the mighty Inquisitor will have him look away, shall stay between you and your advisors. While everything else stays between you and Gereon.


End file.
